


What Might Have Been

by Lying_potato



Category: The Fairy Tale Enchantress - K. M. Shea
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29575971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lying_potato/pseuds/Lying_potato
Summary: “What is love but friendship set on fire?” - Rumpelstiltskin (K. M. Shea)(Aka, an AU of the Rivals AU where being in love with your best friend is never easy)
Relationships: Angelique/Evariste
Kudos: 5





	1. Teach me (how to say goodbye)

In general, Angelique considers herself a fairly tough person. 

After all, one can’t exactly be a war enchantress-in-training without becoming a little jaded.

(Although, she could have been a lot worse. Being fellow apprentices and several years her senior, Evar’s already protective enough of her. She doesn’t want to imagine the kind of damage he would do now that Clovicus isn’t there to rein him in anymore.)

So yeah, Angelique would say she has a pretty good grasp of handling difficult truths, like the fact that she has more power in her little pinky than most mages do in a lifetime. Or the fact that she is somehow stupid enough to fall for her best friend. 

Or the fact that she can never tell him.

* * *

It’s kind of pathetic, really. Because if Angelique could’ve picked one thing in the world to avoid, it’d be romance. 

(Of course, it’s the first obstacle she smacks right into before she’s even out of her apprenticeship.)

To be fair, she likes to think she does a pretty good job of hiding her absurdly obvious feelings, even with all the surprise hugs he keeps springing on her because _affection is important for friendship, Angel_ and she just _had_ to be best friends with someone with no concept of personal space.

Well. A mostly good job, at least. 

It’s the night before Evariste’s graduation ceremony- the mage world is abuzz over _the youngest Enchanter in history, a true prodigy,_ they say admiringly, and Angel can’t help but snicker over how their _precious prodigy_ had once accidentally sneezed himself into a different realm. And of course, in true Royal Brattiness, Emerys has apparently decided that the only way to properly celebrate his personal elf friend is with a party. 

A very loud _,_ open-invite, _rager_ of an elven party. With lots and lots of far-too-merry people. 

“Loosen up a little, will you?” Alastryn drawls as she approaches, elegantly swirling a cup of elven wine. “Standing there all stiff, people might mistake you for a statue.”

“Someone has to be the responsible one between the two of us,” Angelique says, perhaps a tad too sharply. Naturally, Evar’s somewhere in the midst of the dancing crowd, clearly the life of the party. 

She can hear his rich laughter all the way from the sidelines, and if Angel was a better person, she would be happy there’s someone else besides her who could make him laugh that way. 

“Ah.” Alastryn’s eyes are sympathetic in that way that Angel has always hated. It reminds her of the looks she got after her parents were killed, and she was shuffled around the Veneno Conclave until she finally ended up on Clovicus’ doorstep.

But she can’t be angry at the female elf. If there’s anyone besides Emerys who could understand the long history between her and Evar, it’s Alastryn. 

“Don’t.” Angel says softly, peering into her empty wine cup. She can feel the weight of Alastryn’s gaze. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Alastryn hums thoughtfully. “I was only going to say, you were never the type to be a shrinking violet.”

Angelique forces herself to relax her white-knuckled grip on the poor cup. “This is different.” 

“How so?”

A variety of responses flit through Angelique’s thoughts. _Because he’s already my best friend and I’d be foolish to ask for more. Because he’s_ him _and I’m_ me _. Because he’s leaving and I’m afraid that if I tell him, he’ll never come back._

She says nothing. 

“Angel! Dance with me?” And suddenly, here he is, cheeks flushed, golden hair tousled, eyes alight with humor. So undeniably, infuriatingly perfect that Angel’s heart betrays her with a loud _thump_. 

Alastryn somehow disappears in the split second Angel takes to process that he just... _appeared_ right in front of her. Asking her, as if she ever had a chance of refusing.

“How can I say no to the man of the hour?” she asks, a biting edge of sarcasm accidentally slipping through.

“Please. You’ve been saying no to me since the day we met,” Evariste replies flippantly, without missing a beat. “Quite literally. I’m rather sure that is the first word you ever said to me.” 

And just like that, the tight knot in her gut relaxes as she falls into achingly familiar banter. “Naturally, you’re forgetting the part where you tried to kick me out of Master Clovicus’ house.” 

“Then I hope you’ll consider this dance as a very, very late apology for my unforgivable behavior.”

Angel scoffs, then takes the hand he oh-so-gallantly offers, trying to ignore the _zing_ she feels when he laces their fingers together. It’s rather annoying, honestly. 

“I’m surprised you managed to escape long enough to find me,” she says as they settle amidst the swaying crowd. 

“Of course I did. I’ve barely gotten to see you tonight as it is.” 

She looks away, unable to face him, and neatly sidesteps a groaning elf on the ground. It’s not clear if he’s the victim of inebriation or a fight, but she can’t quite bring herself to care right now. “It’s your pre-graduation party. I’m sure you have plenty of adoring fans who would happily keep you company.” 

“Sadly enough, Emerys claimed my ugly mug would scare them all away and offered himself as a sacrifice. A most unwilling one, to be sure.”

Angel lets the conversation die after that, focusing on the thankfully simplistic dance. Her stomach’s been doing a jig since the second his hand settled around her waist, and she really does _not_ want to throw up right now. 

“You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you.”

She continues staring at their moving feet. “What makes you say that?”

“And you’re still avoiding me.”

“If you say so.” She shrugs carelessly. 

“ _Angelique_ .” And _that_ makes her blink, because she hasn’t heard that sort of edge from him since the early years, back when they used to fight over everything and anything, explosions of blue and silver magic punctuating every argument. 

“I thought you’d be too busy with your new Lord Enchanter duties to notice” is not what she _intends_ to say, but the defensive response is pretty much a reflex at this point and may the Snow Queen’s magic fail before Angel turns down a challenge from _him_. 

To her surprise, though, Evariste merely looks thoughtful. He stays silent long enough for Angel to start fidgeting under the first pangs of guilt. This is his night and she has no business ruining it. 

“I haven’t said congratulations yet,” she blurts out. “So um. Congratulations. Sorry it took me so long. I know this is what you’ve been waiting for, and I’m so happy for you, I really am.”

“Thank you,” he says, “You’re not terribly upset that I beat you to it?” 

This startles a laugh out of her, because him _beating_ her was pretty much the last thing on her mind tonight. “Don’t get ahead of yourself there, you did have quite the head start.” Dimly, she’s aware that they’ve pretty much stopped dancing at this point. “And I have no intention of being left in the dust.”

He looks taken aback for a second. “Is that what this is about? You think I’d ever leave you behind?”

“No.” _Yes_ . “But it’s not like you have a choice in that.” _It’s not like you’re the first to go someplace I can’t follow._

“Angel.” Evar cups her face in his hands, tilting it up so her eyes meet his. Since when did he get so blasted tall? “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

His eyes are soft with that _thing_ again, something she can never quite name. Against her will, Angel feels the last prickly-sharp thorns of her animosity begin to wilt and crumble away under the light of that steady gaze. 

She nods mutely, and the corner of his mouth ticks upward as he lets his hands fall back to his sides. “Besides, I’m sure Master Clovicus would miss his favorite apprentice.”

Angel immediately jerks backward and sputters. “Wha-that is such a lie, we both know I’m clearly the favorite. _I_ wasn’t the one who got my hair turned pink.”

“Instead, you just walked around with blue hair for a good day or two.” He shoots her such a smug look that Angel’s blood begins to boil. 

“Because _you_ ambushed me in the first month of my apprenticeship, like a complete brat!”

“I have absolutely no recollection of that.”

“Wow. With that smooth a tongue, you’d make a roaring good conman, _Lord Enchanter_.”

“I’ll take that under consideration, _Apprentice.”_

And the rest of the evening lightens considerably. As they twirl under a glittering night sky, laughing and playfully bickering over fond memories, Angelique can almost let herself believe, just for a moment, that this is all she’ll ever need. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone: oh, this isn’t so bad  
> Me: *snickers in upcoming chapters*
> 
> Special thanks to cham_p_on for giving me this sandbox to play in.


	2. Raise a Glass (let's tell the story of tonight)

True to his word, Evariste visits often over the years, badgering Master Clovicus so badly that the man actually wards his house against all future unexpected portals. 

Given that the last time Evar barged in had been during Clovicus’ bath time, Angelique can understand her master’s irate reaction. 

(Frankly, she’s not sure who was more traumatized by that.)

But time moves differently when one lives for centuries, and before long, it’s been almost a year since Angelique last saw her best friend. 

Still, the physical distance is...good; she gets the time and space to sort her unwanted feelings into a tight little ball and bury them deep in her Things To Avoid mental compartment. And in her defense, seeing that her own enchantress exam is rapidly approaching, she’s a bit preoccupied with more important things than an unrequited crush.

(“Ha! Two years! Two whole years faster than Evar!” she crows triumphantly to Master Clovicus. Even his dry reply of “Congratulations on competing with someone who isn’t here.” does little to deflate her spirits, because yeah, Angelique does have a little of a competitive streak in regards to Evariste, so sue her.)

(Besides, she’s known her master long enough to tell when he’s secretly proud.)

It’s around a week before she’s due to take her exam when the Conclave decides to host a compulsory gathering for all mages to celebrate all the years of peace on the Continent. And despite all his attempts, there’s little Clovicus can do to squirm out of it. 

* * *

“But I don’t see why _I_ have to be here.” Angelique complains to Lord Enchanter Clovicus as they stroll into the spacious chamber of the Veneno Conclave’s main hall. “I’m just a mere apprentice with nothing to offer.”

“We both know you’re virtually an enchantress in all but name, Angelique.” Clovicus looks supremely unimpressed by her argument. “Besides, what would people say if I showed up without my _dear, faithful_ student at my side?”

Angelique barely manages to hold back her snort. In other words, if he has to suffer through this, then so does she. _Well played, old man_ , she thinks, silently applauding her wily master. No wonder she and Evar turned out the way they did. 

“Thankfully,” Clovicus continues, “The Conclave has generously provided a supply of never-ending champagne, which should hopefully prevent this evening from being a complete bore.” He immediately flags down a waitstaff bearing a tray of drinks and plucks one up. Angelique follows his lead, trying her best to smother her grin. 

“Have you forgotten the last time you drank too much?” she asks innocently.

“Haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re talking about,” he states serenely while his ears turn as red as his hair. “Now move along. We’re two sitting ducks like this.” And then he’s off, leaving Angelique alone to fend for herself.

_So much for being his ‘faithful student,_ ’ she muses, sipping the bubbly drink. She begins to make her way through the crowd. The room is enormous, with glittering ornate chandeliers hanging above and tables of carved mahogany laden with self-replenishing food and drink. Mages of all different calibers lounge about in chairs of plush velvet or stand near the ceiling-to-floor windows, admiring the view of the starry night sky. 

_It looks like they’ve invited practically every mage on the Continent,_ Angelique thinks, passing by a craftmage and fairy godmother in deep discussion. _I wonder if…_ he _would be here_. 

And like a moth to a flame, her gaze immediately falls on a familiar mop of sunshine-gold...then just as quickly on the beautiful laughing redhead at his side, clinging onto his arm. Unconsciously, Angelique had already taken a step forward, but the sight of the two of them looking so cozy and _perfect_ halts her in her tracks as effectively as a freezing charm. 

_Lady Enchantress Lovelana_ , her brain helpfully supplies. _The Conclave’s sweetheart. A phenomenal healer. And everything you aren’t._

Sometimes, Angelique wishes she could turn her brain _off_. She spins around before either of them can catch her staring and tries to subtly elbow her way to the snack table a few yards away. 

_I thought you didn’t care anymore,_ sings a smug voice from inside of her. For some reason, it sounded strangely like Emerys. _You said you were done feeling that way._

_I am done, and I don’t care,_ Angelique thinks back fiercely as she stalks to her destination, well aware she’s just arguing with herself, _so shut it and find something else to harass me about._

She downs the last of her champagne at the table and sets down the glass with a rather forceful thump. By sheer luck, Angelique had stomped over to the dessert table, and the heavenly scent of chocolate, sugar, and spiced cinnamon is doing wonders for her current mood. 

She’s just about to reach for a delicious-looking custard when a pair of arms suddenly snake around her waist and yank her backwards against a firm chest. Luckily (for him), the immediate rumbles of laughter are more than familiar enough to stop her from executing any potentially violent retaliations. 

Angel huffs exasperatedly and shoves her way out of Evariste’s hug before she’s tempted to linger there. “You _idiot_. You have no idea how close I was to judo-flipping you.” 

“Oh, I’m well aware of the danger I was courting.” The idiot in question is grinning like a fool, looking annoyingly unrepentant. “But I’ve missed you, little Angel.”

Unsurprisingly, Evariste’s changed little in the years that have passed (looking as unfairly handsome as ever), although he seems to have grown his hair out for this occasion. It’s tied into a little tail at the back of his neck, and Angel resists the childish urge to tiptoe up and yank on it the way he so often did to her in their youth. 

(Well, before she learned that lightning spell and started zapping him back for it.) 

“We’ve written nearly every day, Evar.” Not to mention trying to outdo each other with increasingly elaborate ways to send the messages.

He folds his arms. “That’s not the same and you know it.”

All she can give in response is a helpless shrug and smile, because he’s not exactly wrong. But as much not seeing him had hurt, the letters had been a far easier way to conceal how she had really felt, the distance letting her build up her guard again until their friendship had felt almost _normal_ again. On her end, at least.

Evar uncrosses his arms and rubs his neck, making the coins on his midnight-blue cloak jingle musically. If Angel didn’t know better, she’d almost think he was nervous. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Especially since this is the heart of the Conclave and all.”

True, because Angelique is definitely the Council’s favorite person. “I can’t avoid them forever.”

“You shouldn’t need to avoid them at all.” An uncharacteristic scowl darkens Evar’s face. “I just figured this is the last place you would want to be.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say it was my choice,” Angel says, oddly touched by his display of loyalty. “But I suppose it could be going worse.”

Evar leans in conspiratorially. “We could sneak out, you know.” Sparks of blue begin to swirl around his fingertips, and Angel rolls her eyes. _Showoff_. 

“Clovicus would have my head for that.” She purses her lips to hide a smirk. “Especially if I did so without him.”

His roar of laughter sends a warm glow through her. She’s missed him too, blast it, even if he was clearly busy gallivanting around with beautiful enchantresses. Not that she cared, because she _didn’t_. 

As she fiddles with the tablecloth, a silky purple material, a thought suddenly occurs to her. “If you didn’t know I’d be here tonight, how’d you find me anyway? 

“I saw someone making a beeline for the food, and took a wild guess,” Evar says sarcastically, shooting her an _are-you-serious_ look. “I sensed you, Angel. No one has magic like yours.” 

“Oh yes,” she says teasingly, while kicking herself internally because _oh right, she forgot to hide her magic_ . “I forgot I was talking to the _golden boy_ here, in all his prodigious magical glory.” 

Given how terrible her own sense for outside magic is, no wonder she still isn’t an enchantress yet; with a crowd like tonight, she wouldn’t have been able to pick out an enchanter from an herb wizard. 

“If you had taken a few more steps to the right, you would have walked right into me.” He says it lightly, but his gaze pierces through her.

Angel hesitates. “...I know.” 

He arches an eyebrow. “You know?” It’s more like a statement than a question, but she still finds herself trying to explain.

“You seemed to be in good company before.” _Company that was draping itself all over you, in fact._ “I doubt you wanted a distraction nearby.”

“Ah, you mean Lovelana? Yes, she’s a good friend.” His mismatched eyes briefly flit over to the crowd. “Helped me a lot tonight, actually.” 

“A good friend, huh?” Angel picks at her nails, carefully not looking at him. She takes a deep breath before her next words. “Hmm. I think you’d make a lovely couple.” 

“Says the woman without a single romantic bone in her body.” He snorts derisively. “You’d rather drink tar than think about love. I’d hardly trust your judgment about whom I should date.”

“Well, someone’s a little touchy about his love life.”

“Hey, at least I _have_ a love life. You have as much romantic sense as a cactus.”

It’s just a joke. A dance of dialogue they’ve done thousands of times before, and Angel knows she’s supposed to roll her eyes and shoot back some witty retort, but her breath suddenly hitches in her lungs and there’s a vicious pang in her heart because how. _Dare_. He. 

_As if you still know anything about me_ , she wants to scream, _as if you had any idea how hard I had to work to get my stupid teenage crush on you in the first place._

But she can’t, because the second she opens her mouth, she won’t stop until she is hoarse and crying. And wouldn’t that be just _humiliating_ , considering the fact that Angelique is supposed to be unbreakable.

“Angel?” Evar’s eyes have always been an open book, no matter how many years have passed. And right now, even in the middle of this little...whatever this is, they’re marked with concern, along with a dash of bewilderment. 

Angel blames the champagne. That’s the only explanation for what she does next. It has to be the alcohol.

“Wanna bet?” 

“What?”

“Want. To bet? Because I’ll wager that I can charm someone by the end of the night.”

“You? Charming?” he says, so utterly incredulous that Angel automatically bristles. “From what I remember, you practically shot lightning from your eyes at the last guy that tried to talk to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He had it coming, snooping around the house like that.” So what if she’d let a little of her war magic trickle into her uncanny silver eyes? At least that good-for-nothing Conclave stooge had enough sense to start running. “Besides, everyone knows I’m not that type of war mage.”

At that, Evar just groans and drags a hand down his face. “Do you even know what flirting _is_?”

“Of course I know how to flirt!” Well, she’s certainly seen _him_ do so enough times, at least. “You’re just trying to stall because you’re afraid to lose.”

An indecipherable emotion flashes in his eyes, too quickly for her to follow. “Fine. I accept your bet. In fact, I’ll make this even easier. Forget the flirting, I’ll wager you can’t even last 10 minutes in a conversation before someone ends up incapacitated.” 

“Are you joking.” Ten minutes? Just how badly did he think of her? “For such a conman, you’re betting some terrible odds.” 

“Now who’s stalling?”

She huffs in response and pivots to look for a target. Almost immediately, she spies someone practically perfect for her wager, a young man perhaps a few years her junior, speaking with a dark-haired female companion with whom he appears fairly close. _Hopefully, that should prevent things from getting too awkward if this goes south,_ she thinks. As she’s looking, the female companion gets up from their seats and starts heading to the drinks. _Perfect timing_. 

“Here I go,” she announces. Evar’s eyebrows shoot up, as if to say “that fast?” but Angel’s already striding off before she can lose her nerve. 

“Try not to set this place on fire too” is the mocking response she hears as she leaves, and she grits her teeth because come on, she’s not _that_ bad at human interaction and it was only _one time_. 

The closer Angelique gets to the young mage she picked out, the more she likes him. The clothes he’s wearing are formal enough, but the effect is somewhat ruined by the large straw hat he’s sporting, a fact that makes him all the more endearing to her. But his sharp eyes and casual-yet-poised posture betray the fact that he’s far from a simpleton. 

She abruptly plops herself down in the chair his friend had vacated. “Hi.” 

The mage is staring at her with very wide eyes. Perhaps she was too abrupt. 

“You’re Lady Angelique,” he chokes out. 

Or...perhaps not. “Uh, sure? I mean, yes, I guess I am.”

“Enchantress-in-training Angelique, apprentice to Enchanter Clovicus and the most powerful war mage on the Continent?” The young man says this all in a rush, practically tripping over his tongue. “I-uh-You’re a legend to us.”

Angelique relaxes slightly. “Oh. You’re a war mage too?” No matter how often she’s tried to dissuade them, war mages always have a certain puppy-like excitement around her. 

The young mage bobs, straw hat nearly falling off in his enthusiasm. “My core magic is speed. I just graduated from the academy not too long ago, and I never imagined I would get to meet _you_.”

Angelique laughs self-deprecatingly. “Oh, I’m not anything special, believe me.” 

The young man merely half-smiles and nods, and Angelique sighs because here’s _another one_ who doesn’t believe her. Still, this could work to her advantage for the bet. “So, erm, you know who I am, but I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you?” 

“Oh! Right, my apologies.” He blushes red, to Angelique’s amusement. No one told her how _fun_ this could be. “I’m Donaigh. Or, rather, Apprentice Donaigh. I’ve only just started, though.” 

“Well met, Apprentice Donaigh,” Angelique pastes on a smile dazzling enough to make Alastryn proud. “As an apprentice myself, I wish you the best of luck, though I’m certain you won’t need it.” 

She approvingly notes the toughened calluses on his hands, signaling long, tedious hours of weapons practice. Looks like this Donaigh would be a mage to be reckoned with, one day.

Currently, though, he’s somehow managed to turn an even deeper shade of red. “I-well-uh, thank you, Lady Enchantress.” 

A shadow appears above them.

“Donaigh? Are you well?“ His companion had returned, understandably confused. Angelique hastily scrambles to her feet and inclines her head. Stars, she must have lost track of time, she could have sworn she had another three minutes to make her exit before the companion would be back. 

Well, at least her ten minutes are probably up.

“My apologies,” she begins. To her astonishment though, the other woman holds up a hand and shakes her head before Angelique can speak any further. 

“No need to explain, Lady Angelique,” she says, and Angelique feels a twinge of shock. “I’m the last person who would be surprised by your presence.”

“You…know me as well?” 

“I know you’re Donaigh’s personal hero,” says the female mage. “And I’m surprised he was able to string more than two words together in your presence.” There’s a glint of humor in her dark eyes, and Angelique decides she also likes this woman. 

“Firra, you tell such amusing tales,” Donaigh smiles pleasantly, attempting to subtly trod on his friend’s foot. “My Lady, this is my close friend Firra, a fire mage apprentice who likes to _joke_ _around_.”

Angelique’s amusement grows as Firra merely continues, remaining impressively stone-faced. “It’s an honor to meet you. Regardless of this one here constantly chattering my ear off about your strength and virtues.”

This time, Donaigh’s kick is anything but subtle, and Angelique laughs loudly. The ease and playful candidness between the two of them is a familiar, addictive energy, easy to fold into and become wrapped up in.

“Meeting you two has been a pleasure.” She nods at Firra and offers her hand out to Donaigh. He springs up and takes it, but to her immense shock, he bends into a bow, his forehead around an inch from her skin. 

“We know yours is a hard path to walk, Lady Angelique. Please know that we’re rooting for you every step of the way.” He raises his head, bright eyes eagerly studying her. At his back, Firra rests a hand on his shoulder, silently supportive.

This time, Angelique’s smile is real and broad as she nods again, at a total loss for words. Even though she knows she’s always got her master and Evar in her corner...it’s nice to know there are others who don’t consider her a monster. 

“Thank you. Honestly, I did not realize I would find such staunch allies when I first approached, but now I’m rather selfishly glad I did so.” 

Firra blinks. “Wait. So Donaigh didn’t purposely seek you out while my back was turned?” 

Angelique ruefully shakes her head, ignoring Donaigh’s indignant howl of “ _How tactless do you think I am?”_ as she half-smiles. “I’m afraid this was the result of a bet.”

“A…bet.”

Her half-smile turns a little wicked. “See that man with the coin cloak over there? The one with the annoyingly bright smile? Yes, he’s to blame.”

Firra’s mouth falls open while Donaigh squints. “Is-isn’t that Lord Enchanter Evariste you’re referring to? The powerful prodigy?” 

“Powerful _dunce_ is more like it,” Angelique says airily, knowing that she’s enjoying this far too much. “He had the nerve to say I couldn’t carry a conversation with a stranger for more than ten minutes.” 

Firra just continues to blink rapidly as Donaigh quietly mumbles “That explains why he was watching us like a hawk before” under his breath. 

Angelique shifts her weight nervously. “I…hope this doesn’t change anything. Even if it started as a wager, I meant every word of what I said, Apprentice Donaigh.” 

Donaigh’s dead silent for a perilous moment, but then he beams and tips his straw hat roguishly. “I’ll keep your words close to my heart for years, Lady Enchantress.” 

“Please, it’s just Angelique.” Relief makes her voice even huskier than normal, and she clears her throat. “Us apprentices have no need to be so formal with one another.”

Donaigh looks as if he wants to argue that point very much, but Firra cuts him off with a simple “Thank you, Angelique.”

And from there, it’s easy. They chat and make plans for the future (Donaigh, in particular, can barely contain his excitement when Angelique invites him to spar) and by the time she can extricate herself from the conversation and leave, she feels as though she’s known them for years. And the way Firra immediately turns on Donaigh (“ _So you really weren’t the one to approach her?_ ”) once Angelique is barely a foot away leaves her grinning all the way back to the snack table. 

_I really do like these two. They’re a real hoot._

“See? No one’s dead or on fire, just like I said,” Angel calls out triumphantly upon her return to Evar, and okay, fine, so she’s rubbing it in just a little, but she’s a tad giddy over her unexpected success. Not only was that _definitely_ more than ten minutes, she might have actually made two new allies. 

Evar’s staring straight ahead and looking distinctly grumpier than when she had left him, brow furrowed as he swirls a glass of champagne in his hand. When did he even get a drink? 

“My, my, are you pouting?” She’s even feeling brave enough to nudge him with her shoulder as she props an elbow on the table to face him. “Don’t be such a sore loser, Evar. Not everyone finds me as unloveable as you do, you know.” 

His head whips around at that, blue and green eyes scanning her with such sudden, deep intensity that for the second time that night, she’s struck speechless. For all that Evariste’s an open book to her, in moments like these, she feels like she doesn’t know him at all. 

But then he breaks the moment by suddenly smirking and vigorously ruffling her hair into floof, like one would a favorite pet. “Good Angel. You made a friend without collateral damage.”

“Eurghhhh, my hair, you-you _cretin_! As if the Council needs more reasons to label me an uncivilized beast!” Angel glares murderously before turning away to spin a small restoration charm, letting bright silver magic coat her fingertips while muttering a continuous stream of death threats to all annoying blonde enchanters. 

_A child. An utter child is what he is_ , she concludes, making certain she isn’t facing him so she can hide the small, fond smile tugging at her lips, even as she wonders about his strange behavior before. 

And because she looks away, she doesn’t see the way his smirk slips. She doesn’t see the wistful light that momentarily flickers in his eyes, or how his hand flexes involuntarily at his side before unclenching.

In the span of a second, she misses it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...the amount of times I accidentally wrote Clowncave instead of Conclave…


	3. Look at where we are (look at where we started)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, if you haven't guessed already, I've been stealing Hamilton lyrics for chapter titles

Five days after the Conclave banquet, Angelique is informed that she has received permission to take the pre-evaluation for her enchantress exam.

“Are you ready?” Clovicus looks strangely worried, brows furrowed as he glances at the barren canyon. The distant figure of Enchantress Primrose, the other exam witness, can barely be made out. “You know you don’t really have to do this, right? You can already easily make enchantress even if you skip this part.”

“Of course I’m going to do this, Master.” Angelique languidly stretches her arms upward as she walks towards the large green crystals. “I have nothing to hide. Besides, what could possibly go wrong?”

* * *

To say it goes  _ very _ wrong would be like calling the Snow Queen a minor magic user. 

It takes all of two hours after the disastrous fiasco of a pre-evaluation before an irate enchanter storms into Clovicus’ house. 

“What happened.” Leftover blue magic is still sparking around Evariste’s clenched fists as he marches into her sitting room where she’s lying on the couch.

Angelique is in no mood to move—the healer mage had only cleared her to leave her bed barely a half hour ago— but she lifts her head to stare blearily at her wholly unexpected visitor. 

_ We went a whole year without meeting, and now I see him twice in one week. Go figure _ . “I thought you were in Verglas.”

“I  _ was _ in Verglas, ” He bites out, short and terse, as he sinks into a chair beside her. “And now I’m not. What. Happened.”

She slowly sits up, ignoring the painful protest from her body and waving aside his fussing. “It’s fine.” 

“Don’t tell me everything’s fine,” he growls, crossing his arms. “If it was fine, you wouldn’t be here, looking like death warmed over. If everything was fine, Clovicus wouldn’t have sent an urgent message about portaling here while he’s fighting tooth and nail with the Conclave over  _ putting you on trial _ !” He’s getting progressively louder and louder with each sentence, and what little humor Angel had to begin with rapidly vanishes. 

“Sounds like you already know everything,” she says a tad sarcastically, “So why are you still asking?” 

His eyes narrow. “What were you  _ thinking _ ?”

Her magic, still a little volatile after the whole ordeal with the crystals and the violent explosion afterward, roils within her. “I was thinking that it’d be nice if someone stopped yelling at me like some miscreant child.”

“You nearly died over a test!” Evar gestures wildly to where they are, as if to prove his point. “What am I suppose to do, pat your head and offer more encouragement for the next time you do this suicide run?”

“Well, since those stupid rocks are completely shattered thanks to my magic, there won’t  _ be _ a next time,” Angel snaps back. “I thought you, of all people, would understand why I had to do this!”

Evar pinches the bridge of his nose. “You and I both know you’ve broken every single limit previously set for an enchanter’s level. Going to the crystals was entirely unnecessary, so...why?”

She fists the material of the couch in a white-knuckled grip. First Clovicus, now Evariste. Did  _ no one _ trust her to handle her magic? “You say that like I somehow knew my magic would overwhelm the crystals and cause them to implode. All I wanted was to follow the usual path like a good little apprentice!”

“I didn’t mean- I’m not accusing-it’s just.” He briefly scrubs his face with a hand, looking almost as tired as she feels. “You don’t need to jump through every hoop the Council throws at you, Angel. When are you going to realize that you have nothing to prove? ”

“...Nothing to prove?” It actually takes her a second to respond, stunned as she is. All the anger and frustration in her slowly churns together. “Everyone loves and adores you,  _ prodigy _ . As if you have  _ any _ idea what it’s like to be looked at like you’re an abomination.” 

“Don’t call yourself that,” he immediately says, and her irritation spikes.

( _ Always preaching the same thing over and over again _ .  _ Does he actually believe I  _ want _ to be called a monster? _ )

“Why are you even here?” She’s close to shouting as she desperately tries to suppress the hurt that’s bubbling up. “If all you’re here to do is yell, I’d rather you have stayed in Verglas!”

“All I’m trying to do,” he says loudly, raising his own voice, “is protect you!”

“You forget that I’m not  _ yours _ to protect! I don’t need you, so stop trying to help me!” She roars back. Her magic blazes a blinding silver in response to her emotions, forcing her to close her eyes for a second and rein it in. 

But in the moment before she does, she could swear that Evar looks as though she’d clobbered him over the head with a hammer.

It must have been a trick of the light, because when she opens her eyes again, his face is utterly blank. 

“My mistake.” It’s the coldest she’s ever heard him sound, and its icy abruptness in the face of his previous fury chills her. “I forgot who I was talking to. You never need anyone’s help because you push them away first. No one can get through those iron walls you lock yourself in, not Clovicus or Emerys or Alastryn, and  _ certainly _ not me.”

Now it’s her turn to feel like she’s been physically slapped. “W-what?”

“You’ve been different this past year--- distant, more reserved. I kept making excuses at first, thinking it was all in my head. But it’s not, is it?” He leans closer, eyes aflame with accusation. “You’ve been pushing me away. Because deep down, you’re still that scared little girl from all those years ago, choosing to hide first and fight second. So much for being a war mage.”

Her shock whips into pure anger at a speed that frightens herself. Of course there’s never been anyone else who could push all her buttons faster than he could. She locks eyes with him, meeting his cold gaze with her furious one.

“Get. Out.” She isn’t sure if her voice is shaking from fury, shock, sheer exhaustion, or a combination of all three. Her eyes feel hot.  _ How had this all gone so wrong? _

Footsteps and the creak of a door alert them both to Clovicus’ return, but neither of them break eye contact with each other. They’re practically nose-to-nose from their argument, and a small part of her wonders what sort of picture they present. 

(Him, utterly still and half-out of his chair. Her, pale-faced and shaking with anger.)

From a few feet away, she hears her master heave a weary, exhaustion-laden sigh. “Aren’t you two supposed to be too old for this?”

Neither of them deign to give him a response, each still stubbornly glaring at the other. This time, Clovicus loudly clears his throat. 

“Girl brat, you shouldn’t even be sitting up, let alone having a screaming match. And boy brat,  _ why _ you’re having a screaming match with an invalid is beyond me,” he barks out, the annoyance in his voice lashing down like the crack of a whip. “I need you to come with me, Evariste. The Conclave has kindly requested your presence.”

At that, Evariste scoffs and finally looks away. He gets up so fast that his chair skids backward from the force, making a horrific screeching noise that Angelique can’t help but flinch at. But he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he stalks past Clovicus and out the door without another word.

(Not once does he look back.)

Clovicus shakes his head and mutters something she isn’t really paying attention to, because now that he’s  _ gone _ , it feels as though he’s sucked all the anger out with him. 

And without that fury, she could no longer shut the lid on her emotions. 

“I hate him,” she mumbles, barely able to speak around the massive lump forming in her throat. She blinks rapidly, trying to prevent her vision from blurring.

Clovicus sighs once more as he stoops down beside her and firmly pats her head once. 

“No you don’t,” he says in a voice that somehow manages to be both kind and reproachful. “I may be old, but I’m not blind.”

He eyes her for a moment longer, a speculative look on his face, before he stands up and leaves to join Evariste outside. 

The second the bright golden flare of portal magic signals that both of them are well and truly gone, Angelique curls into a tight ball and finally lets the tears fall.

(Because as much as she tries to deny it, Clovicus is right: hate is the last thing she feels for him, even now.) 

* * *

Six quiet, miserable months slip by without a single word.

It’s possibly the worst fight they’ve ever had, even worse than the first year of their shared childhood where they butted heads day after day.

_ At least then, I was forced to see him every day to the point where we finally became friends. This...this is just an impasse. _

And yet, she refuses to be the one to reach out. Never mind that her anger from that night had faded away a long time ago, leaving only a pulsing, aching regret.  _ It’s the principle of the matter, _ she tells herself.

( _ And this way _ , whispers a small, insidious voice,  _ you won’t have to face his potential rejection _ .)

Emerys, to his credit, does try his best to breach the cold war.

“You could do something,” he says pointedly one day. Without the handiness of a human teleporter—not to mention the frequent chances of running into said teleporter—her visits to Alabaster Forest had become increasingly rare so the elf king was clearly wasting no opportunity.

Angelique rolls her eyes. Of course Emerys was told. “Do what, exactly?”

“I don’t know, but I want my friends back,” Emerys scowls, annoyance twisting his handsome face into childlike petulance, “Clearly, you’re miserable, and so is he. So why doesn’t one of you just apologize and end this already? Honestly, if you two would just talk about your feelings-“ 

He abruptly breaks off and loudly swears as a silver fog suffuses the air and the ground starts shaking.

“It’s not that  _ easy _ , Themerysaldi,” Angelique growls. Tips of ancient elven spears and swords pierce through the earth within a five-foot radius. 

“Okay, okay touchy subject! I get the  _ point _ ,” Emerys says quickly, eying a particularly sharp arrow that had surfaced inches from his foot. 

The ground stops rumbling as the silver glow fades. Angelique stomps off, thankfully missing Emerys’ irritated mutter of “how are the two of you so equally _ stubborn _ ” as he now warily trails a few paces behind.

(Emerys is many things, but a fool is not one of them. He doesn’t try again.)

The only silver lining, faint as it is, is that somehow, Clovicus manages to get the Council off Angelique’s back. Though it’s not much of a consolation, given that she’s apparently on “thin ice.”

“I’ve been on ‘thin ice’ since the second they found me,” she says dismissively, but her master looks unusually grim. 

“This is different, even for them. If it weren’t for the testimonies that you’ve always been a model student….” He trails off, serious in a way that sends pricks of uneasiness down her back. “As it is, I’ve had to give my word that you will not perform any major workings until they judge you to be fully recovered.”

“That’s not so bad-“

“And they insisted that your exam be pushed back until further notice.”

“...”

(A few hours later, Clovicus grumpily informs her that “smuggling chickens into the Conclave through my office” has now been added to the list of “Things Apprentices Are Not Allowed To Do”)

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well. At least they talked?


	4. Time (to take a shot)

Winter slowly creeps in, bringing frost, snow, and ironically, new life as the country of Sole celebrates the birth of a new Crown Princess. Naturally, she and Clovicus are invited to the Christening.

(Although  _ invited _ is a strong word;  _ purposely selected _ is more accurate, and Angelique strongly suspects it’s yet another consequence for the crystal stunt she pulled all those months ago.)

Ciane, Sole’s capital, is certainly beautiful, but Angelique would appreciate it a lot more at a decent temperature. She exhales in relief when the Sole royals lead her and Clovicus inside the grand, ornate palace, finally escaping the frigid temperature and stinging air. 

_ Would that I had a cloak spelled for warmth,  _ she thinks longingly, pushing down the hood of her fur-lined common-spun cloak as she ambles down halls of majestic marble and suits of armor. They’ve arrived early; the ceremony for Princess Rosalinda wouldn’t take place for a few days, and the magic user guests had been granted permission to go nearly anywhere within the capital.  _ I should finally be able to afford one on my own this year, rather than dipping into my master’s funds. Or even better, I should just befriend a craftmage. _

“My my, you manage to grow lovelier every time I see you.” An iron-haired, motherly-looking woman marches up and clasps Angelique’s hands in hers, beaming. 

“Sybilla!” Angelique smiles delightedly at her old friend. “It’s good to see you.” 

“Oh, you don’t need to appease an old woman like me. You’d probably much rather see that boy enchanter of yours than this sack of old bones.” The fairy godmother winks, and Angelique tries to ignore the sudden plunge her stomach takes.  _ He’s...here? Evar’s here? _

Her heart stutters out a painful (hopeful) beat as she nonchalantly tries to glance behind Sybilla, a nervous energy fizzing through her. “Oh. Have you...seen him?” 

Sybilla gives her a strange look. “Portal magic, dear. I doubt he’ll arrive any earlier than the day of the Christening.”

“Right, of course.” She fights down an embarrassed flush.  _ Quit acting like such a fool, Angel. “ _ And I assure you, Sybilla, I enjoy your company plenty.” __

“You flatter me, child.” Sybilla chortles merrily, patting her once more before linking arms. “Now, where’s that master of yours? He needs to learn to properly greet his elders.” 

“I’ll tell you, but only if you let me be there when you say that to his face,” Angelique says, half-smirking as they begin heading to the living quarters.

“Oooh, I’ve missed that sense of humor of yours! Aside from Breeza, the others here have been such a bore. You’ll like Breeza, I’m sure. She-“ As Sybilla continues to chatter away, Angelique is more than happy to listen and take the time to gather her thoughts....particularly the one about seeing  _ him _ again after so long. 

_ It was inevitable. At least this time, I actually get a heads-up _ . Her power brightens as it reacts to her strange mix of trepidation and anticipation.  _ Let’s see how  _ he _ likes being surprised for a change.  _

But on the day of the Christening, as Angelique scans the crowd, there’s no familiar hooded figure appearing among the ranks of the magic users. 

“He’s not usually late, is he?” Breeza whispers to her. Over the past few days, Angelique had gotten to know the weather mage fairly well as the two of them, along with Sybilla, had explored (read: unleashed chaos) through the palace. She knew the young stormy-eyed mage had been looking forward to meeting the famous Evariste. 

“I’ve never known him to be,” she murmurs back. There’s a tangled mix of emotions surging within her that she does  _ not _ have the will to try and pick out right now. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“No, he was invited.” A snide voice cuts in. Angelique mentally groans as she recognizes it as belonging to Melody, a music mage. “But since Enchanter Clovicus brought you as an extra, the royals probably thought the balance of power would be overkill with a third enchanter.” 

Melody’s friend, a shapeshifter whose name Angelique could never remember, appears also displeased as she grumbles, “Never mind that you’re still an apprentice.”

Even as Breeza immediately fires back at the two, causing a dour-faced Finnr to shoot a withering glare at them all, Angelique’s already tuned out the conversation.

(She’s far too used to this sort of situation to even bother at this point.)

_ So he’s avoiding me.  _ A familiar, six-month-old guilt flares to life as she stares sightlessly ahead.  _ Not that I blame him _ .  _ After all, he’s doing exactly what I told him to do. _

And though the ceremony itself is as lovely as one would expect from Sole—with the little princess babbling adorably at her magical visitors while her proud parents look on—most of it passes in a blur for Angelique. Even the minor squabble that erupts between Melody and Breeza over what a “ _ proper _ ” gift for a princess should be (clearly, the two now bear a mutual grudge) is barely enough to stir her interest. 

That is, until the sky outside turns dark and the doors to the massive hall are suddenly thrown open with a thunderous crash. 

_ (Not quite the surprise I hoped for _ , she thinks wryly as a pale, sneering man with a glaring red mark carved into his forehead saunters in.)

* * *

And then she returns home after that whole  _ mess _ and sees the one person she never expected to be there.

“What the-what are you doing here?” Shock makes her words come out harsher than she intends. She tries to soften her instinctive defensive stance. 

_ Months without a word, and now you just…show up? After everything? Why now? _

At her appearance, Evariste startles from his sprawl on the couch, hastily scrambles to his feet——and all of a sudden, she sees is the gangly, endearingly awkward boy she first knew. Before the confidence, before the charm. 

(Before she had to go and fall for him, causing this whole mess.)

Angelique blinks rapidly to clear the illusion, nearly missing his next words.

“I heard. About Carabosso and the Sole princess, I mean,” he says quickly, holding his hands up and offering a small, lopsided smile. “And, well. Not that you would care what I think, but...impressive.” 

_ Impressive _ . Ridiculous how easily a single word could make her heart open, in light of everything that had happened. She remembers the day of Princess Rosalina’s christening, the chaos that had broken out once that  _ accursed _ man Carabosso had appeared. She’d opted to leave after that nightmare had been wrapped up, although Clovicus unfortunately had to stay in Sole to handle the fallout and potential consequences for the Continent. 

“It’s barely been a couple of days,” she says shortly.  _ He heard? That quickly?  _

“News travels fast among mages.” A hard edge creeps into his tone as his eyes briefly scan her over. “Especially when it’s about someone who is supposed to be sealed.” 

She jerks her head in a poor imitation of a nod, fists clenching at her sides. Because of that  _ lovely _ surprise, she hadn’t been fast enough to stop Carabosso from cursing the infant princess. But that despicable action sealed his own doom, because she was certainly fast enough to blast him unconscious with her core magic while he was busy gloating. 

Yet, even with Carabosso neutralized, there was still the matter of the curse. 

And Angelique was the only mage left who had not yet given a blessing.

So, despite her protests, there had only been one solution left.

“I miscalculated,” she admits quietly, feeling vulnerable in a way only he ever seems to induce, even now.  _ Impressive,  _ Evar had called her, but he doesn’t know the extent of her mistakes. Impressive is  _ not _ the word she would have used. “I should have saved my power for the princess, for the curse modification.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I thought the modification worked?” 

Angel winces.  _ Oh he’s going to love this.  _ “Only because I was able to apply the most basic one I knew.” She holds her breath as she waits for it to click.

Naturally, it doesn’t take long. “You used romantic love? You?” A corner of his mouth twitches up into a knowing smirk as he crosses his arms. “I thought you swore a long time ago that you would never use such a ‘useless device’ when there were more ‘practical’ options.”

“Like I said,” she reluctantly says through gritted teeth _. Really, he doesn’t have to look so delighted _ . “I miscalculated. I spent too much power on the knockout strike, so it was the only one I could think of that wouldn’t immediately activate my price.“  _ And the fact that my magic is all too darn affected by romantic love these days, thanks to you. _

But of course, she can’t explain that part _ ,  _ so she just runs a hand through her tangled, carriage-mussed hair to hide her rising flush. “You would have handled everything so much better than I did.” 

_ You should have been there too _ is what she actually wants to say, but things between them are fragile enough without a reminder of what had happened the last time they saw each other.

And maybe he hears the unsaid meaning, because his smirk fades. “You underestimate yourself.” 

She shrugs off the cloak she’d been wearing from the ride back, walking over to drape it on a nearby chair. The room is starting to feel far too warm for her liking. “Do I?” 

“Yes.” Funny how a single word could hold so much tension. So much meaning.

Angelique shifts her feet, averting her eyes from his.

(They’ve danced around the elephant in the room long enough.)

“It’s...been a while,” she allows herself to say, keeping her tone deliberately casual. “Hasn’t it?”

“It has,” he says, just as lightly. “Around five months, I believe?” 

“Six,” she corrects. Perhaps a little too curtly, given the way he tenses. 

They stand there, an awkward silence slowly falling in place.  _ It’s never been like this before.  _ Suddenly, she’s acutely aware of the fact that the two of them are alone and the temperature of the room seems to be climbing.  _ Say something. Anything. _

“You didn’t write,” she blurts out.  _ No, you numbskull, not that. _

“I...didn’t think you’d want me to,” he says quietly, an apologetic smile at his lips. She knows him,  _ knows  _ that pleasant smile he so often wields as a mask, and it actually hurts that he feels like he needs to protect himself against her, of all people.

She looks down again, biting her lip.  _ What do I say? How can I make this right?  _ Out of the corner of her eye, she can see his foot tapping on the floor.  _ Great, he’s just as anxious as I am. That’s exactly what we need. Two idiots standing here in ever-increasing silence and— _

“I lied before.” His voice slams her spiraling thoughts to a screeching halt. “I didn’t come here because of what happened in Sole.”

She snaps her head up to see him rubbing the back of his head, looking almost...self-conscious? 

“You didn’t?” Her glare probably says something like  _ explain before I throw you out of this house again,  _ because he nearly trips over his next words trying to get them out.

“Well, I did! Sort of. The truth is that I was waiting here when I heard about it. And I was waiting...because I had something.” He shifts to the side, revealing a small wooden box tied with a shimmering silver ribbon. “It’s for you. Obviously.”

_ How sneaky _ , some part of her can’t help but note approvingly,  _ he stood in front of it this entire time so you wouldn’t see it _ .

_ Shut up _ , snaps her more rational side. A side that is currently very confused.

Then in the blink of an eye, Evar’s standing in front of her, holding it out to her. She takes the box. Unties the ribbon. Opens it. 

And nearly drops the whole thing when she sees what’s inside.

“Evar...you didn’t.” She hesitantly touches the opalescent fabric, satin-smooth layers that slowly change hue right before her eyes. Golden topaz, champagne pink, steely blue—each color seamlessly bleeds into the next. And with just the barest brush, she can already sense the multitude of charms crafted into the gorgeous dream of a dress: durability, warmth, stain-resistance, to name a few.  _ He...why would he do this for me?  _

“Consider it an apology.” His musical voice is low, nearly a whisper. If Angel wasn’t standing right next to him, she’s not sure she would have even heard it. “And...a premature congratulations. For whenever you pass your exam.”

She stays silent, feeling as brittle as glass.  _ It must have cost a fortune. _ Ridiculously enough, tears prick the back of her eyes.  _ What an idiot. Why would  _ he _ apologize? _

“I would’ve handed it to you in Sole but, well.” From the corner of her eye, she sees him give an off-hand shrug, close enough to her that Angel can hear the fabric of his cloak rustle. “Things got a little...complicated. You know me and black magic.”

She makes the mistake of looking up at him and gets caught in the trap of his steady, earnest gaze. Her words die in her throat.

(It’s always moments like this that make her wonder,  _ what if _ ?)

She should be thrilled. A dress charmed to the nines, fit for a true Lady Enchantress, is certainly no small thing. It’s a wonderful, heartrendingly thoughtful gift that, had it been given by anyone else, for anything else, she wouldn’t have thought twice about taking.

But not like this. Not for something that’s completely her fault.

“I’m sorry.” She lets the dress fabric slip through her fingers. Closes the box with a  _ click _ . “I-I can’t.”

“You...don’t want it?” The hint of devastation that threads through his voice nearly destroys her resolve.

“I do.”  _ Oh, I do.  _ “But I can’t accept this. Not from you.” 

She tries to hand the box back, but he suddenly grips her hands, long graceful fingers folding over hers.

“Angel, please.” A wild, almost desperate light burns in his eyes, shining with that indecipherable _thing_ that she could never figure out. “What do I need to do to fix this? To fix us?” 

(If she didn’t know better, it’s almost as if—but no. That’s impossible _.) _

For a brief, brief second, she lets herself imagine what might have been if she had just swallowed her pride and accepted his apology. Could things have gone back to normal? Could they just be friends again? 

_ You’re still that scared little girl, always running and hiding.  _ His words from that horrible day pound through her head like stones falling on a sword, and sudden exhaustion washes over her. 

She’s  _ tired _ of this. So incredibly tired. It feels like the tenuous strings holding her together fray more and more the longer she bottles it up.

_ We can’t keep doing this.  _ I _ can’t keep doing this. _

She looks at him, barely a breath away, It’s tempting, so tempting, to just reach out and yank him to her. To put an end to this, once and for all. 

_ He’s your best friend _ , whispers that ever-persistent voice, cool and soothing like her war magic _. He’s been there for you for so long. You owe him some sort of explanation first.  _ Something fierce blazes in her chest, filling her with a steely determination.

_ Fine _ . So be it.

“You can’t fix this,” she says softly, feeling like her heart is breaking all over again as she pulls her hands free. “This is all me.”

She sees him open his mouth —maybe to ask, maybe to protest—and hurries to cut him off. 

_ Let me say it, _ she begs silently.  _ Let me say this one thing. Then you can leave. _

“If I could have fixed how I feel about you, I would have done it already.” The rush of deeply-buried words finally pour out of her like water bursting from a dam. “Actually, I’ve been trying for years. Because being in love with you is annoying and inconvenient, and it still doesn’t stop me from wanting to  _ murder _ you at times.” She briefly squeezes her eyes shut. “The thing is, I thought I was better than this, because  _ everyone loves Evariste _ and that’s something we’d always laughed about before. So I always swore to myself that I would never be just one more girl fawning over you like that.”

She takes a shaky breath, one filled with both resignation and renewed vigor. The words keep tumbling out now, years and years of pent-up truths spewing out like hot lava, scorching their relationship beyond repair.

“But here I am anyway, no better than the rest of them. And the worst part? I don’t even know how or when it happened, because I can barely remember a time when you haven’t been at my side. You’ve always been the one person who could make me laugh.” She hiccups a choked-sounding chuckle, recalling the blasted fight that brought them to this point. “Or cry, but that’s another matter. And how ironic, because that’s exactly what finally convinced me that this is more than some dumb infatuation that I could get over.”

Right on cue, moisture suddenly blurs her vision and she viciously swipes her face to clear it. “But still. You didn’t ask for this. So I was willing to stay quiet, because to lose your friendship over something as stupid as my  _ feelings _ ? I’d never forgive myself.” She looks him square in the eye, determined to catch his gaze one last time. “But I guess it doesn’t matter now, because I’ll lose you either way.”

He’s gone ghost-white, mouth still half-open and eyes wide as saucers. If this had been any other moment, she would have teased him mercilessly for such a comical, stunned expression. As it is, she barrels straight on.

“I love you, Evariste.” Her magic flares deep within her at those words. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Her words float in the air between them, and Angel resists the urge to snatch them back, to stuff them back down inside.  _ I won’t hide. Not anymore. _

She watches him carefully, feeling like her heart is going to burst out of her chest with how hard it’s pounding. He takes a breath—

—And a loud, furious knocking at the door shatters the thick tension. 

Immediately, he stiffens and pulls slightly away, and just like that, everything in her deflates as an icy feeling floods through her.  _ What have I done? _

“I-excuse me.” She flees the sitting room, practically sprinting to the front door that someone appears to be hammering at like their life depends on it.  _ This is for the best. At least it saves him the embarrassment of rejecting me _ . The pins-and-needles feeling of her magic swirls anxiously around her as she tries to calm down. 

Angelique opens the door, plastering on the fakest smile she can muster. “I’m sorry, we’re not-“

Vermillion red light lashes around her, quick as lightning. 

“Aaaaaaaahhh!” A scream is involuntarily ripped from her as she’s forced to her knees, the pain tearing into her as if her bones are liquifying. Her war magic erupts as rough hands seize her, roaring out in response to her terror and ripping through the dark spell like wet paper. But then more red light comes streaking in as she’s surrounded by hooded figures.

“Hurry up!” A harsh, panicked voice calls. “Give me the syringe!” 

Something is plunged into the side of her neck. She tries to headbutt whoever it is that’s holding her, but a sick, numbing feeling begins spreading through her veins. 

In the haze, she hears things, words that make no sense. 

“ _ You should hope your husband’s mad concoction works _ .”

“ _Just finish the curse, you fool._ _Rothbart knows what he’s doing._ ”

_ “He’d better, or we’re all going to be-“ _

BOOM. 

A galaxy of cerulean blue explodes into the room, sending grey-robed figures flying. The magical pressure around Angel lessens; without missing a beat, she slams a knee into whoever’s closest to her—eliciting a grunt of pain— and rolls, lashing out with sluggish tendrils of her remaining power to cut off any retaliation.

Her neck aches as she sprints to Evariste, the source of the blue light.  _ What did they do to me? _ She darts to his side right as lightning strikes over her head, frying a mage who was charging towards her.

“Nice of you to tell me you were expecting visitors.” In contrast with his conversational tone, a look of absolute fury blazes in Evar’s eyes as magic crackles all around them. His jaw clenches. “You’re bleeding.” 

She slaps a hand to her neck, grimacing as she feels the slippery, sticky substance. “Only a little.” Annoyingly, her hands won’t stop  _ trembling _ , even as the sick feeling from before starts to vanish. “Let’s return the favor, shall we?” 

“Gladly.”

And just like that, they fall into sync as if the past few minutes (and months) never even happened. Angel lets him handle the fancy stuff — twisty-sounding counterspells, fan-like formations of lightning and fire—while she concentrates on pounding the attackers with wave after wave of sheer energy. 

“Would it be inappropriate to say I’ve rather missed this?” At her back, Evar snaps his fingers. A plasma bolt sizzles as it strikes down a mage who had been creeping up from behind.

Angel flashes a wolfish grin as a spray of kitchen knives pins another mage to a wall. “Absolutely. Wildly inappropriate.” 

(Of course she’s not  _ enjoying _ herself, but when was the last time they’d been able to work together so seamlessly?)

Still, the odds of this bizarre battle are getting closer than she would like them to be. Especially since with every hit, her power seems to be...lessening?

_ It’s as if I’m hitting some sort of limit, but…that’s impossible. _

“Angel, we need to talk. I-“

“Duck!” She shoves him down as the wall behind them is blasted to pieces. Narrowing her eyes, she sends the sharp stone chunks swirling around them as a temporary shield. “Whatever you have to say, can it wait until we’re not  _ fighting for our lives _ ?”

She swears she can hear him mutter “assuming you don’t run away” but at that moment, there’s an enormous crash from the now-smashed sitting room windows and  _ okay _ , there are more urgent things to be concerned about right now than her idiotic confession. 

_ I’m not avoiding the conversation. It’s just really  _ **_not_ ** _ a good time. _

Low chanting from the open door catches her attention. A group of their grey-robed attackers (where did they come from?) stand there, clustered like a murder of crows. 

“Evar, I don’t like the look of those-“ 

A sickly yellow fog rapidly pours in. A wisp of it brushes her ankle and she violently recoils, her hair standing on end.  _ Blood. Pain. This is  _ wrong. 

She grits her teeth, gathering as much power as she can and hurling it at the group in one swift deadly spike.

But instead of a tornado of raw energy, there’s only the smallest of shudders among the shattered fragments of the debris.  _ What just happened? _

Frantically, she tries once more, but it’s as if a wall has been slammed down between her and her core magic, slowing the familiar rush of power to a mere trickle.  _ No. My magic…no! _

“The fog!” She screams, backing away. “Don’t let the fog touch you! It seals magic!” 

“What?!” 

In horror, she watches as more fog pours in from the windows, obscuring both of them. But then wind bursts in, a tempest of cobalt-tinted gales that whips the fog into nothing. 

She spits out hair from her mouth as Evar’s hand latches on her wrist and protectively pulls her close. “Are you alright?” 

“No. My magic…it’s gone.” 

“What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“Gone as in  _ I don’t have it _ .” She wills for even the smallest trace of silver to coat her fingers, but it’s as if iron shackles have barred the door to her power, which rages and thrashes behind the barrier like a chained wolf. “It’s like I’ve been sealed, but- look out!” 

Evar conjures a shimmering shield just in time to block whatever nasty curse was sent at them. The tar-like substance hisses and bubbles against the smooth surface, and Angel’s blood runs cold. _To use such dark magic...who are these mages?_ _And why is Evariste still able to use his magic when I can’t?_

With her magic blocked, the tide rapidly turns and soon they’re forced to the base of the stairs. Angelique has never felt more  _ useless _ in her life, watching Evar fend off a barrage of attacks meant for the both of them. 

“You need to run. It’s me they want.” At least she’s managed to grab a fire poker along the way, which is proving to be quite the deterrent to any mages that get too close. 

“I’m not leaving you.”

_ Oh, this noble idiot.  _ “Don’t try to be a hero. Once you’re far enough, you can open a portal and get help-”

“There’s a portal upstairs in Clovicus’ room that we can use.” He mutters a few words and a raging fireball is launched behind them towards their pursuers. “I made it for him a few months ago so he could get to the Conclave more easily.” 

“Something I’m sure he’s very grateful for,” Angel can’t help but snark as she hops the staircase railing with ease. At least her physical abilities were still intact. She tries once more to access her magic, but the wall is still there.  _ And yet...is it weakening? Or just wishful thinking? _

Somehow, they manage to stumble their way to Clovicus’ personal quarters. With a silent apology to her master, Angel kicks the door down with a loud bang. Inside, a small portal glows like a miracle. 

Once they’re through the doorway, Evar blocks the hallway with a wall of lightning. 

“We don’t have much time. Go!” He shouts, even as enemy mages begin appearing in the distance, casting counterspells of their own to avoid the lightning strikes.

Angel shakes her head, brandishing the poker like a sword. “You first.”

“I’m not the powerless one right now. Go! I’m fine!” Despite his words, he looks absolutely exhausted, his magic barely flickering. 

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one.” Out of instinct, she tries to spin a healing spell, only for the magic to sputter out halfway through.  _ But...it almost worked? Is my magic coming back?  _

“Alright. If neither of us are going anywhere,” Evar begins, a sly look on his face. How does he have the audacity to  _ smile _ at her right now? “Then let’s have that talk. Because trust me, I have a lot to say as well.” 

Her face automatically starts to burn.  _ Is he really going to do this? Right now?  _ Angel glances at the horde of mages in the hall, then at the stubborn challenge in Evar’s eyes, and decides that there are more important hills to die on. 

She growls and stalks into the portal, ignoring his chuckle. “Why did I have to be in love with a  _ madman _ .” 

But right before the world dissolves in a kaleidoscope of colors, she sees an ominous flash of red light, and she  _ knows _ . 

She knows that she just made the worst mistake of her life.

And she’s powerless to stop it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A summary)
> 
> Evar: I’m sorry
> 
> Angel: I love you
> 
> Evar: what
> 
> Chosen *crashes through a wall*: FINALLY


End file.
